


every day heroics

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [32]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9595022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Compulsion, Robbie thinks. He remembers flipping idly through one of Georgie’s textbooks when he was waiting on him to finish an essay so they could go out, stopping in on pathological behaviors.A repetitive, rule-based behavior that a person feels they must perform in order to feel normal and in some cases to prevent negative consequences from happening. It is an impulse to repeatedly perform an act even if it doesn't seem rational or goes against an individual's will.He remembers it because it’d resonated; he’d been looking at Georgie before every game for months at that point, lookingforhim. Like, of course he looked at him a lot in the room, on the bench, on the ice, but before they got on the ice, he’d always need this quick little look to make sure Georgie was still there, still with him, that they were still golden.Compulsion,Robbie thinks, and the word still means the same thing, but now it’s sour.





	

Robbie feels okay the next day. Or, not okay, not really, but not bad enough to warrant the concerned looks Matty keeps shooting at him, first really obvious, then, when Robbie tells him to cut that shit right out, still pretty obvious but at least _attempting_ subtlety. Maybe it’s just obvious to Robbie, though, because no one else seems to be picking up on it, not even Crane. 

Matty sticks to his side basically every second of the day, which almost no one bats an eye at either. Them attached at the hip is weird compared to what things have been like lately — it feels kind of weird to Robbie right now — but it’s pretty typical of them in general. The only person who _does_ bat an eye is Wheels, who looks all happy about it and agrees, for once, to play two-touch even though he’s shit at it and it always ends with vicious, vicious mockery from the Europeans, who are unfairly good at it. Like, Robbie played soccer for fucking _years_ , and somehow he never wins against them. That’s some bullshit right there. Wheels quits in a sulk after like one round and the Europeans ban all North Americans for being ‘crybaby losers with fake football’, which, _rude_ , but E for (terrible?) effort, Robbie guesses. 

Literally the only time Matty leaves him alone is when he’s been enlisted, as the tallest dude on the roster, to try to save the ball the guys get stuck in the rafters — pretty fucking noble of him considering he was also banned from two-touch despite not doing anything wrong except maybe supporting _super_ fake football as a CFL fan, which _is_ pretty terrible — and he only goes to save the day after he’s made sure he’s secured Robbie with Wheels. Maybe another day Robbie would find it annoying, Matty acting like some unpaid bodyguard, but today he just finds it adorable. He’s adorable. Robbie has no idea what the fuck he’d do without him. 

“I’m glad you kissed and made up,” Wheels says, and Robbie glances at him sharply, wondering if Matty said something to Wheels about Georgie, though that’s not him at all, and there’s also no way that he’d refer to it as ‘kissed and made up’. There may be kissing happening, but no fucking way does making up apply.

Robbie’s confusion must show, because Wheels says, “You and Ellie. Like, I didn’t want to get involved, but he was pretty bummed about it, and bummed roommates are the worst.”

“Soulmates back soulful and mating,” Robbie says.

Wheels wrinkles his nose. “Dude.”

“Platonically mated,” Robbie revises.

“What would platonic mating even involve?” Wheels asks.

“Hugging it out?” Robbie says.

Wheels throws an arm around Robbie’s shoulder, gives him a mini-hugging out. “Glad you dudes hugged it out then. Even Dev started providing back up hugs and he hoards those off the ice, but it was Bardi hugs or nothing.”

Robbie feels shitty. Like, who the fuck gets so caught up their drama — pretty fucking dramatic drama, Robbie will maintain, but like — who fucks up reading their best friend that badly? Robbie’s going around all pussy-footing around him like he’ll blow up, and meanwhile everyone else is going around hugging Matty because Robbie’s a douche. And then of course the second Robbie needs him Matty’s there with open arms without batting an eyelash.

Like man, he does not deserve Elliott Ryan Matthews. 

“None of us do,” Wheels says solemnly when Robbie says that out loud, because out of everyone else, he knows that best. “Like, at all.”

“I saved the day!” Matty announces, coming back with his arms raised victoriously.

“Where is your shoe?” Wheels asks.

“I lost my shoe,” Matty says.

“How the fuck—” Robbie asks, then seeing Salonen walking by with a ladder. “Is your shoe in the fucking rafters, Matty?”

“Yeah, but I knocked the ball free with it,” Matty says. “So it’s fine.”

“Hey Cinderella,” Salonen yells five minutes later, and tosses Matty his shoe.

“And I have my shoe back!” Matty says, before bending down to put it back on. “Rescue success.”

Wheels pats him on the head, and Robbie wants to get in on that before he realizes he can, so. 

“Are you guys patting me?” Matty asks, tying his shoe.

“You’re a good kiddo,” Wheels says, then scrubs his hand through Matty’s hair until it sticks up at every angle. “I’ll make you those enchiladas you love if you don’t fix your hair before warm ups.”

Matty considers. “Okay,” he says, and does Wheels one better by going out with his helmet loose in one hand, giving everyone there a good minute of watching him skate around with his hair looking like he stuck his finger in a socket before he straps it on.

“You took away the fun,” Crane pouts at him from the net. At least, Robbie thinks he’s pouting. 

“Safety first, Craney,” Matty says, and then almost takes Crane’s head off with a high riser he gets a little too much wood on.

“Safety first?” Crane yells back incredulously. “You _kidding_ me, Matthews?”

“Sorry, Dev,” Matty says, trying and failing not to laugh.

“He’s just keeping you sharp, Craney,” Robbie says, and Crane looks like he desperately would like to throw off his glove and give them the finger or skate of out his net and take Matty down, but there’s a kid staring at him wide eyed in this adorably tiny Chapman jersey, and Crane visibly restrains himself and then waves a little, relaxing all the way when the kid waves wildly back.

Somehow he _still_ stops the shot Robbie impulsively shoots, taking advantage of his distraction.

“Stick to D,” Crane yells, tossing the puck mockingly in his direction, and now it’s all _Robbie_ can do not to pull out the finger.

*

Having Matty as his constant (and much bigger and taller, damn him) shadow means that Georgie doesn’t try to talk to him at all before the game, even when they’re sitting side by side. Or maybe Georgie wouldn’t have anyway, Robbie doesn’t know, but either way, he’s grateful, because there’s a sum fucking total of nothing he wants to say to him right now. Well, nothing and like, the longest fucking bawling out the world has ever heard, but he’s kind of concerned that will contain _actual_ bawling, so. Robbie’s going with nothing.

That doesn’t extend to the bench, or the ice, but on the ice it’s shit like ‘open!’ and ‘drop it back’, and on the bench it’s shit like ‘nice block’ or ‘didn’t you fucking hear that I was open?’, and a huff when Robbie bites out, ‘it was safer to pass to Quincy’. Which it was, for the record, because Robbie’s sure as shit not going to fuck his team over to prove a point, especially when every game means so damn much right now. 

Robbie’s not quiet either, because they need to communicate if they’re going to pull this out. “Weaver,” Robbie says. Weaver’s a big fucker, but he’s been playing loose, too loose, and it’d be easy as fuck to shake him off the puck if Robbie was Georgie’s size. “I saw it,” Georgie says. The next shift he fucking _flattens_ him and the turnover winds up on Frei’s stick and then in the back of the net.

“Good job,” Robbie says, when they’re back on the bench.

“Thanks,” Georgie says, and they say a lot more things but none of it is anything, really.

*

They win, which is the hugest fucking relief, especially because the final few games of the season they get to play at home. Their home ice advantage is pretty fucking good, and everyone’s loose with it, knowing that they’re almost a lock now, that tomorrow night they’ll be back in their own beds, get to stay there for a little while. 

If they were playing in the east they’d be jumping on a plane, but it’s already past midnight in DC; Rutledge is all about trying to keep wake up times as consistent as possible, and getting home in the middle of the night does not lend itself to that. That means they’ve got a bitch of an early flight, but guys are already talking about going out, at least of the ‘beer or two’ variety, not the ‘clubbing, my bros!’ shit. Coach doesn’t have a formal curfew or anything unless there’s a game the next day, like Robbie knows a lot of teams do, says he trusts them to be smart about it. Generally they all are, especially because Quincy and Kurmazov and Salonen will wreck you if you aren’t smart about it. Rest in fucking pieces every last shred of Eriksson’s dignity.

If Georgie’s looking at him after the game, Robbie’s not looking back. Matty oh so casually wanders his way over after possibly the quickest shower known to humankind, and Robbie’s not looking at him either, exactly, not while Georgie’s there, because he doesn’t want to know if Matty’s giving Georgie looks or the evil eye or what, doesn’t want to know if it’s obvious to Georgie that Matty knows what’s up, or how much Matty knows. Georgie’s not stupid. Georgie’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid, and there’s no chance he hasn’t picked up on it by now. Either way, though, he doesn’t say anything to Robbie, to Matty either, and when he gets back from his own shower he conspicuously hangs out in front of Frei, who’s halfway across the room.

Robbie isn’t interested in going out, not even for an hour. He’s fucking wiped and feels a little empty, hollow, and the last thing he needs is to fill it up with some liquid inhibition remover. Right now he thinks his inhibitions are probably a good thing to hold onto, especially because there’s this creeping feeling, kind of like an itch, that’s tugging him in Georgie’s direction, and it’s already hard enough to ignore. 

He goes back to the hotel right after the game, and so does Matty. Robbie doesn’t know if he’s tired too, not feeling it, or if he’s continuing on in the whole unofficial guard dog thing, and he doesn’t want to ask, because he’ll feel shitty if Matty wants to go out but feels like he has to stick around for Robbie’s sake.

“I’m wiped,” Matty yawns when they get in, going straight for his suitcase to grab one of the billion interchangeable pairs of plaid pajama pants he owns. 

“Me too,” Robbie says, and figures Matty’s got a good plan going there. He’s more a sleep in your underwear kind of guy, but yeah, time for the suit to go. “Thank fuck we’re going home tomorrow.”

“Not going out tonight?” Matty asks, when Robbie’s down to his boxers and his undershirt, eying his bed and considering whether it’s safe to lie down, or if he’ll get too comfy and not want to get out to do the whole before bed bathroom routine. The crisp sheets are calling, and he decides worst case scenario his teeth can go one night without a brush, crawls under the covers.

“Nah,” Robbie says, and pretends not to see the way Matty looks relieved, because it makes him feel almost as horrible as the slow clench in him that’s making it hard to stay away.

_Compulsion_ , Robbie thinks. He remembers flipping idly through one of Georgie’s textbooks when he was waiting on him to finish an essay so they could go out, stopping in on pathological behaviors. _A repetitive, rule-based behavior that a person feels they must perform in order to feel normal and in some cases to prevent negative consequences from happening. It is an impulse to repeatedly perform an act even if it doesn't seem rational or goes against an individual's will._

He remembers it because it’d resonated; he’d been looking at Georgie before every game for months at that point, looking _for_ him. Like, of course he looked at him a lot in the room, on the bench, on the ice, but before they got on the ice, he’d always need this quick little look to make sure Georgie was still there, still with him, that they were still golden.

_Compulsion,_ Robbie thinks, and the word still means the same thing, but now it’s sour.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Matty asks suddenly.

“Calculating our odds on popping up a seed based on the shitshow of that Whalers game last night,” Robbie says. He already had earlier today, but the win the Caps pulled off tonight is another variable to add there.

“You’re such a nerd,” Matty says, but fondly.

“Hey Mr. Almost Failed Math,” Robbie says. 

“I can’t believe I told you that,” Matty bitches. “You’re never going to shut up about it. ‘No Elliott, let me figure out the tip, I have a degree in Economics and _you_ almost failed math.”

“Sounds like a strong argument,” Robbie says. “From a smart guy.”

“From a _jerk_ ,” Matty mutters, but he’s smiling. “Want me to turn something on, or—”

“Go ahead, I’m probably going to pass out soon anyway,” Robbie says. 

“That’s cool, me too,” Matty says. “Can I hit the main lights?”

Robbie waves a hand, doesn’t bother to turn on his bedside light when Matty turns them off. His eyes are heavier by the minute. He’s getting enough hours, but fuck knows it doesn’t feel like it, feels like he’s sitting on the world’s biggest sleep deficit, that he could sleep for days and he still won’t be able to catch up.

“Bardi?” Matty says, when Robbie’s already halfway out.

“Sleeping, Matty,” Robbie says, and when Matty doesn’t say anything, not even a reflexive ‘sorry’, “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Matty asks.

“Probably not,” Robbie says. “But. You know.”

“You and Georgie—” Matty says.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Robbie says.

“Okay,” Matty says quietly. “Can you promise me something?”

“Tell me what I’m promising first,” Robbie says, wary.

“Can you let me know if I can help?” Matty says.

“Help how?” Robbie asks.

“I don’t know,” Matty says. “Just. Help.”

“You’re too good for me, Elliott Ryan Matthews,” Robbie says.

“No I’m not,” Elliott says. “Can you—”

“You’re already helping,” Robbie says. “So, you know. Just keep it up, and we’re golden, okay?”

“Sure,” Matty says, and then when Robbie’s almost drifted off again, “Bardi?”

“Oh my god, I take it back, you are the worst,” Robbie says. “What?”

“Good night,” Matty says, with this smirky little smile in his voice, and Robbie gathers enough energy to throw one of the extra pillows in the direction of his bed in response.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I know I'll be asked about this: David in BTT refers to a curfew, but this is him sticking by game day curfew even on non-game days because he's David. Oleg was not kidding when he told David a) not to worry about curfew on his birthday and b) that management did not give a shit. 
> 
> There is no official rules on curfew in the NHL; curfew policies are determined by the clubs, and they vary greatly from teams with strict no-tolerance policies in that missing curfew even by a minute will get you scratched the next game, to teams with no formal curfew whatsoever. Washington in this case falls somewhere between both extremes.
> 
> Matty's shoe incident may sound familiar to some -- that is because ball in the rafters incidents happen to hockey teams that play two-touch practically every week and often end with some pour soul going to find a ladder, and the shoe incident literally [happened to Henrik Sedin last month.](http://halvedhab.tumblr.com/post/153661955653/a-thrilling-tale)


End file.
